


only the dead

by finalizer



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Angst, Dialogue Heavy, Execution, M/M, Post-Canon, sort of maybe possibly implied major character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-18
Updated: 2016-03-18
Packaged: 2018-05-25 17:07:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6203734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/finalizer/pseuds/finalizer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“And you expected that would work?” Hux asks. He knows that if he forces himself to suffocate in silence, his hands will start trembling again, shaking in the damned cuffs keeping him chained to the table. As if he posed a threat anymore. So, he talks. “You killed Han Solo and had the audacity to think she would spare me because you asked nicely?”</p><p>Or, all good things come to an end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	only the dead

**Author's Note:**

> title from Plato: _“Only the dead have seen the end of war.”_
> 
> content warning for talk of death and executions, enjoy

When Ren takes a tentative seat in the lone chair across from him, Hux wonders why his first thought is as poetic as it is. The table spans empty between them, a wide chasm, a million miles separating them once and for all. Almost a pathetic metaphor for the situation they’d fallen into. Then, the realization: _fuck it_. He may as well be poetic in his last hours alive.

“I tried to do something,” Ren starts. His voice is almost different, now that he’s back home — now that he’s no longer Kylo Ren, no longer a pawn in service to the Dark Side. Hux crushes the traitorous observation before it can fully form in his mind.

He doesn’t speak.

“ _Anything_ — I told her — my mother — that I would do anything to have her reduce your sentence — ”

Ren’s tripping over words, chaotic and lost. And Hux is still thinking of him as _Ren_. Old habits die hard. In this case, quite literally, Hux would take them to his grave soon enough.

“And you expected that would work?” Hux asks then. He knows that if he forces himself to suffocate in silence, his hands will start trembling again, shaking in the damned cuffs keeping him chained to the table. As if he posed a threat anymore. So, he talks. “You killed Han Solo and had the audacity to think she would spare me because you asked nicely? That's naïve.”

Ren looks affronted. “She’s not cruel. She voted against the death sentence, Hux. She was overruled.”

Hux takes this in in silence. The famous general of the Resistance, the iron-willed Leia Organa, all but attempting to pardon him for his crimes because her wayward son begs her to do so. And then Hux almost laughs at how he considers life imprisonment a pardon, an preferable alternative.

When Ren speaks again, it’s softer, like he himself can’t comprehend the concept. “I thought, at first, that she would do as you said: do to me what I did to her. Take you away from me — since I killed the man she loved.”

“Don’t say it like that,” Hux snaps. He can’t help himself; the tremble seeps back into his fingers and he rolls his hands into fists to stay grounded. “That you _love_ me. Don’t you dare say that.”

Ren clamps his mouth shut and wrings his hands on the tabletop in front of him. He would reach out, if it were possible, trap Hux’s hands between his own and never let go. But the table is too long and the guards stationed by the door are watching, and Ren can’t do a thing to alleviate Hux’s fear. It’s there, rolling off him in waves. He looks like he hadn’t slept since his capture, exhausted and deteriorating, and he’s afraid. He’s terrified.

Hux doesn’t want to hear about love. Not when it’s too late for the sentiment to mean anything.

“I’m sorry,” Ren says instead; more words Hux is thoroughly done listening to.

“Keep your guilt to yourself, Ren.”

“My guilt?”

Hux straightens in his seat, leans forward on tired arms, cuffs chafing his wrists. He could care less. “You feel bad because we’re equally at fault here, and yet you’re off the hook, thanks to mummy dearest. You’re so hard on yourself, always thinking you deserve the worst, almost wishing it was you facing the death row instead of me.”

“Hux, don’t say that.”

“No? Why not? I’m going to die, Ren. No use sugar coating it. We can all stop pretending now.”

Ren stills and it’s almost comical how his eyes widen — how it would’ve been endearing if they weren’t so thoroughly drenched in pain. And he curls in on himself, trying to hide from the truth in Hux’s words.

Hux can’t stand it.

“I shouldn’t have said that. Any of it. None of this is your fault.”

“It is. I could have done more.”

“There’s nothing you could have done, Ren, not at this point. I — don’t expect forgiveness for anything I’ve done. I never have, and I chose to do it anyway. I can face the consequences. I don’t need you wallowing in self-pity because of some misplaced sense of righteousness. You can’t make right something that never was so.”

Silence, then Ren’s consciousness is pushing into Hux’s mind, fueling his splitting headache towards an unbearable level.

_Stop acting like it’s over, Hux. I can — I can fix this. Let me fix this._

One moment, there’s a light in Hux’s eyes, a nearly hopeful spark of life in place of the dull haze he’d felt for so long —

_I promised I wouldn’t let anything happen to you. Please, believe me, we can still get out of here. Both of us, together._

— and then it’s gone. Extinguished for good.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” Hux says aloud, and immediately feels Ren’s presence receding from his mind.

“Let me help you.” The pleading in Ren’s voice is pathetic. It’s weak, _it’s so weak_ , and Hux can’t allow himself to be weak now. He can’t shut down and let himself cry like a frightened child. Doesn’t need Ren to console him.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Hux warns him. “Leave it alone. Let the past — just let it go. Your mother — _everyone_ — they’re willing to forgive you. Can’t you see that? I’m not worth ruining your chance at rebuilding your life. You have so much to go back to, when I’m gone. Don’t fuck it up by doing something reckless.”

Ren was always reckless. The opposite of everything Hux tried to be. Collected, rigid ruthlessness, every detail planned to perfection — all useless now, for where it got him. Cuffed like a meaningless prisoner, watching Ren struggle to hold back pitiful tears when all he was supposed to do was come in and say his goodbyes.

“I’m sorry,” Ren repeats. “I’m so sorry, Hux.” His voice wavers and Hux hates how it makes him feel, like his chest is too small, constricting his lungs. He can’t breathe — he’s back in the courtroom when his sentence was announced (as if could’ve been anything different) and the blood runs cold in his veins. He’s —

_— afraid. You’re so afraid._

Ren’s voice is back in his head. Hux welcomes it, he’s done fighting. It’s soothing. He hates it but it’s a favorable alternative to the screaming voices in his mind. Constant reminders of his fate. Screaming. He doesn’t want to think about it. The collapse of the Order and him tried for its collective crimes as its figurehead. The millions wanting him dead. Shouting, screaming, that it’s a small price to pay for the billions he slaughtered almost singlehandedly. They want his end to be a show, is all. To make a spectacle of justice.

 _Of course I am_ , he thinks back. His words aren’t weak, his resolve doesn’t quiver. He’s afraid because he’s going to die, not because he thinks he doesn’t deserve it. It’s too late to grow a conscience.

There’s pity in Ren’s eyes — pity and overwhelming guilt, like he wants to apologize again, rip the chains from the table and run, take Hux with him and never look back.

“Can I ask something of you?” Hux whispers quickly, before Ren can act on his impulses, and curses how soft it sounds.

The answer is immediate. “Anything.”

“Whatever you’re thinking now, it’s stupid. I know it is. You’re thinking of tearing the cuffs away, murdering your way out of here and — what, escaping with me? What good will that do you, Ren? Trust me when I say I don’t want you to do any of that. You’d be throwing everything away. You’d be letting Snoke win.”

“Snoke’s dead,” Ren interjects. He interrupts, he doesn’t want to listen to Hux’s words, he doesn’t like where they’re headed.

“And do you want to carry on his legacy? You don’t. You don’t belong on his side. So, do this for me, would you — go back to your damn family, all waiting for you with open arms and boundless forgiveness. Go get some peace of mind, hell knows we both deserve it. And don’t look back. Forget me. Don’t do anything you’d regret.”

The silence hangs heavy in the air and Ren’s eyes are glistening with unshed tears. It makes Hux want to hit him, to strike him across the face, push him away and force him to make the right choice. He doesn’t want Ren to waver in the face of this decision. He needs Ren to be strong. For himself, for both of them. Hux needs that strength to keep himself from falling apart.

“What I’d regret — ” Ren’s voice breaks and Hux can’t stand it anymore. He doesn’t cry, he can’t, doesn’t know how to, but he wants to. “ — I’d regret — letting you die.”

Hux lets his fingernails draw bloody crescents in his palms.

“That’s too bad. You’re going to have to.”

“I can’t. Please let me do something. I can — I can still do something.”

There’s no need for eloquence. Not when faced with mortality.

“No,” Hux says. The detachment in his own voice jars him.

“Please, let me — ”

Ren’s breath is coming in ragged gasps. He’s practically sobbing; unable to break the damn attachment, and Hux wants him gone from his sight.

“Please, Hux — ”

Tranquility settles. Hux rakes his gaze over Ren’s face for the last time, and looks past him, at one of the guards stationed at the door.

“We’re done here.”

Horror floods Ren’s face but Hux isn’t looking, he’s staring straight ahead at the flat of the table, steadying his frantic heartbeat, the uncontrollable tremor in his hands.

Ren is being pulled away, he’s not going willingly, but Hux can’t look anymore. He’s made peace with the knowledge that Ren has a life to go back to. He doesn’t need Hux nearly as much as he thinks he does.

There’s a brush over his hand, Ren’s fingertips barely ghosting over his own before he’s forcibly dragged from the room and Hux almost gasps, almost doubles over as the nausea settles in — he’s not ready for this to be over, he’s not ready, he’s so afraid, he’s terrified, he wants it all to  _fucking_ go away, wants to be held and comforted, fed little white lies about how it’s all going to be alright.

But he gets nothing.

He doesn’t get what he wants.

No one ever does.

The door slams shut and the sounds reverberates painfully through his bones. The quiet is impossible as an eerie calm takes over. The alluring promise of silence, of long awaited peace.

Hux forces his eyes shut and waits for oblivion.


End file.
